A Prepper's Guide to the Apocalypse
by Raven Blanchard
Summary: An enthusiastic doomsday prepper gets reborn into TWD. This obviously changes things. (OCs abound. AU almost from the very beginning. Owning up that this is totally a wish-fulfillment fic. Some canon characters, zero canon story. M for stuff. I mean, have you SEEN the show!)
1. The Odds

The zombie apoclaypse could happen, _really_ happen, without you being part of the first-week survivor list. It's nothing to be ashamed of, normal people just aren't built to hack heavy-ass crowbars/machetes/katanas/whatever through the pure calcium deposit that makes up human skulls. If your aim is good enough to hit the skull in the first place. Being able to keep yourself safe at home for the first couple of days is already a big enough achievement in this survival horror. Making the usual week-long (or less) grocery supply in your pantry last for longer than it normally would, is an even bigger achievement.

If you're lucky, you're fit enough to actually outrun the undead once you decide to finally leave home. Or smart enough to know the right ways to avoid them. Or both. And if you find a nice and secure place to set up base? Then that's _amazing_ , if not terribly unlikely.

For the (only slightly) lucky individuals (who live _alone_ , because having a family to look out for makes chances of survival decrease exponentially), if they don't die outright in the initial chaos, the end of the world happens like this:

You hear weird stories about people biting each other. _Could be rabies_ , you think to yourself. Shit happens, and sometimes it happens on a bigger scale than it normally would. Then you see it happen. On TV, on the internet. Some say the biters are actually dead p̤eople, which is too stupid to believe, but what the medical experts say sounds even dumber: an "unidentified pathogen" is the cause, they say, but you're smart enough to know that it could mean microscopic _Teletubbies_ were the cause of the outbreak, for all the good that medical concensus was. Then someone you know is bitten, dies, and attacks you. You survive the encounter, but only just. The government tells people to stay home. Two days pass. The next day, the phone lines go dead. You can't call anyone with your cellphone, because everyone and their mother thought of doing the same thing. The government tells you to get to a big city. You try, but you're sitting in traffic when the government broadcasts stop; you see planes dropping _napalm_ on the city ahead. You go back home. A week has gone by. You're nearly out of food, except for that one Snickers bar you've pocketed just in case.

Because all the "just in case" scenarios seem to be happening all at once.

The power gets shut off. No news of any kind is available without it. No water pressure either. For a day or two, some people pound on your door to ask for help. But you keep that door shut tight, because _what if_ , right? You hear gunfire nearby every now and then. Eventually though, the shooting stops. You hear moans, then screaming, then more moaning. And not the fun kind, either.

You're thirsty, hungry, filthy, and you probably stink worse than days-old roadkill. But you stay at home anyway, because what else can you do? Where else can you go? The only things that seem to happen outside are violence and death, and, well, they can't get to you if you've locked up tight, right?

... _Right?_

You look out the window - three zombies are eating your neighbor. Some other undead see you, and _holy shit_ , you haven't boarded up your windows, you idiot. You finally decide to bolt, hop in your car, and head for the countryside. The few radio stations that are still broadcasting are all playing a looped message telling people to lock their doors and wait for military assistance. Every town you pass through looks worse than the last - burning buildings, corpses in the streets, roads blocked by abandoned and crashed vehicles, looters, zombies, fire, blood, death - the world is falling apart before your eyes.

You reach a campsite with people who seem to be decent enough, and fight off frequent zombie attacks together. No one knows more than you do - there are different variations of the same rumors about safe places far away, but deep down, you know they are all wishful thinking - nowhere is safe anymore.

... **but this story _isn't_ about you**. This is about someone who actually _prepared_ for the end.

That kind of shit tends to make a difference.

 **ooOoo**

 **EPIC-LENGTH A/N:**

 **I'm outta my funk! ...sort of. Here it is folks, my shiny new TWD OC/self-insert fic. There are like ten million nods to the NatGeo TV show "Doomsday Preppers" because I'm a weirdo and I actually love that show. It has... _something_. Something that calls real hard to my closet prepper. So hard, in fact, that I think once I get my MD license, I'll cure the hell outta a lot of patients just so I can roll enough dough to have my own amazing BOB (bug-out bag) and make my own Doomsday Bunker (which is another TV show, don't ask, I'm a prepper nut and let's just leave it at that).**

 **Seriously, daydreaming about how I'd prepare for the apocalypse is like my guilty pleasure or something. I've been called weird for being so into it, and I _completely_ own up to any weirdness this kink of mine makes me seem to have, but I'm just wondering, are there any other preppers (open or closeted) among my readers? If so, I would _love_ to hear from you any prepping whatevs (foraging, trapping, or just food in general, weapons, water, medicine, fortifications, _anything_ ) that you have done or want to do yourself, or want to see in this fic.**

 **I'm open to suggestions. The next chapter is already in the works though, so I might not be able to incorporate your suggestions/tips/wishes immediately.**

 **Also, I'll try _real_ hard to update my other fics, but inspiration is a spotty thing, now that I'm so close to taking my licensure exam, so no promises. The most likely to be updated are The Analyst, Disasterpiece, and FVM. In no particular order.**

 **P.S.: I'm completely aware that as a fanfic author I am super lousy (after all, who likes an author who hardly ever updates?), and I can't thank you readers enough for liking my stories anyway (especially you _reviewers_! ...though lurkers are cool too, I don't review every chapter of every fic I read either, so I can totes relate). You guys are _amazing_.**

 **P.P.S: Three of my fics, Autumn, Maximum Impact, and NARPG, are up for adoption. Really. I haven't put it up on the blurbs yet, but they are, so there you go. No need for further permission, just grab the fics and take them where you want to. I'd love a mention in your fics though, or a PM, because I'd love to see what you make of my stories.**


	2. Fact 1

**Fact:** **The End Changes Everything and Nothing**

 **ooOoo**

Dr. Penelope Lane Walker, a fifth year surgery resident at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia, is prepared for the end of the world. Has been for a long time. It's just a thing she does -- prepare and stock up and train and prepare some more. When the D-day happens (as she knows it would, obviously), she finds herself armed and ready, and the owner of a three-acre patch of forest bisected by a creek and a large, expertly hidden and well-stocked underground bunker ready for use. She had the whole thing made both for herself and her parents, who are in England and have been there for _years_ , but whatever.

She was born in a filthy rich family, to parents who are simultaneously indulgent, eccentric, and _avoidant_.

Frankly, she's had worse Before. Not that she would ever talk about that.

Anyway, doomsday prepping is an expensive hobby that Penny Lane Walker could well afford because of her loaded parents, and because of her job (which she was able to get into _also_ _because of her parents_ ), and for that she's thankful. And after that video-assisted thoracic surgery that she helped her mentor conduct on a certain King County Sheriff's Deputy named _Richard Grimes_? Well, that just justifies everything, doesn't it? Turns out she hasn't been preparing for nothing, after all.

Though whether that is a good thing or a bad thing still remains to be seen.

Almost immediately after scrubbing out of Rick Grimes's surgery, Penny files an indefinite leave and heads for the hills. Or the creekside, as the case may be. Never let it be said that Penny Lane Walker is an ungrateful woman though. She has a couple of "bug-out bags" immediately delivered to Sir and Mrs. Reginald Walker, all the way to Wiltshire, England. Her parents may have been more willing to send her a couple thousand pounds every month rather than, well, to actually be _with_ her, but she's reasonably sure they love her... in their own weird way.

But there lies family drama. Which is so _not_ relevant, so Penny spends an inordinate amount of time ignoring it.

She reaches her property within two hours on the old dirt bike she'd bought for the express purpose of bugging out, and arrives at midday, which is just perfect. Georgia has way more trees than one would think, and it's easy to get lost if you don't know the lay of the land. Which she does, but it doesnt hurt to be safe. She trudges through dried foliage and scorching heat for what seems to be hours, and finally sees her destination: the dilapitated remnants of a car smack dab in the middle of the property. Its wheels and axels are gone, and the car is more of just a rusty body laying low and flat on the forest floor. She looks around, decides the surrounding area to be safe, and lifts the lid off the car's trunk, revealing the five-inch thick steel door to -- you guessed it -- her _bunker_.

The end happens soonafter, and it happens with all the chaos and death that the doctor expects, though dissapointingly without the charactetistic grandeur she'd imagined; none of the large-scale sense of convergence like a symphony's finale. The end of the world is supposed to be significant, after all. Biblical, even. It is a concept that has been theorized and contemplated since the beginning of man's first coherent thought. Prophesied and discussed and dreaded, even anticipated by some. And in all the stories that she remembers, the End happens with that distinct, all-encompassing air of importance and grace that can almost be called beautiful.

But the End, she figures, is probably not meant to be beautiful. Or particularly ominous or foreboding. Its _significance_ is just a delusion of humanity's characteristic arrogance. The End is just what it is. It isn't a symphony, it isn't a piece of theatre, and it definitely isn't a story. It isn't the Revelation, either. Yes, the world dies in violence and pain. With rape and murder, cannibalism and theft, torture and injustice, all the heartbreaking and despicable acts that if put to film would probably bring the whole world to tears. ...And yes, the dead do indeed "come to life," just like Biblical canon, if one were the type to view the facts according to their beliefs instead of the other way around.

But Penny thinks about it, _really_ thinks about it, and realizes that the End isn't that big of a deal after all. It isn't even really the end of anything. It was more of a Change than an End. So people do heinous and truly reprehensible things now. So danger lurks at every corner. People have to kill for food, for shelter, for anything. People are monsters, out of choice or circumstance.

But that's just business as usual.

Humans have always been monsters.

 **ooOoo**

 **A/N: I AM ON A ROLL!** ***rolls around like a log*** **Reviews are love! And suggestions are welcome!**


End file.
